Absolution
by ganchroi
Summary: SPOILERS - don't read unless you've seen Thor: The Dark World! (I don't own the rights to Marvel, Thor or the Avengers - but Norse mythology is free!) Loki's journey from Helheim to redeem himself and his epic quest to save the universe! THANKS SO MUCH FOR THE FEW FAVES/FOLLOWERS I HAVE! I really appreciate it immensely! :D
1. Prologue

The blackened steel feels cold as it pierces through me, The Kursed dragging me atop the blade with him. For all my mockery of Thor's foolishness, how had I become the fool in all of this? Risking my life for a place I can never call home again? To save these mewling quims? They've hurt me, dishonoured me, disowned me and banished me; why must I harbour feelings for them still, or at all?

I suddenly realise that my life is probably going to end here and now, and it pains me to think I have to die in Thor's presence; of all the ironic and tormenting things, why this? After the wonderful ploy and how well things were playing out in our favour, why had I acted so idiotically in order to save my adoptive brother? I didn't harbour any love for him, nor the mortal he had become entwined with; or did I? I truly do not know and it disturbs me; for once I don't know my own feelings.

I can feel my life ebbing from me – my blood soaks my vestments through and drips along the blade, and I feel so cold... I'm suddenly pushed forcefully off the blade, stumbling backwards and hitting the ground hard, agonising pain springing forth from my wound and resonating through my back. As The Kursed approaches me I manage to huff out in a gruff, sardonic manner; "See you in Hel, monster". It's too late however; The Kursed failed to realise that I had activated one of his inter-dimensional grenades and he's now collapsing in upon himself within a reddish sphere of swirling lights. I look on in meagre satisfaction as I hear my brother running towards me. I simply can't handle this pain any longer and feel myself drifting away however; it's so hard to breathe that I'm gasping for air, my eyes are bulging in my head, my pulse is thundering in my ears and I feel my blood gushing through my fingers. I look down at my bloodstained hands, hands that have killed men and stolen plenty a thing, hands that have held those dearest to me and were then pushed away in scorn, hands that have now saved my brother from certain death... Am I having a change of heart? Or is this really how I've always felt and was too blind to see it? Thor was pulling me up into an embrace, cradling me as I lay here bleeding out onto the ground;

"You fool, you didn't listen" I hear the regret in Thor's voice as he speaks to me; he almost sounds scolding but the grief laces his voice too thickly for it to ring true.

"I Know... I-I'm a fool... I'm a fool..." for once I agree with him - why had I been the fool? I suppose a Trickster and a fool are similar enough to share traits... Augh! The pain is so great – it's like a flood of blades through my chest, trying to heave my heart out with them! Who knew dying would be this difficult!?

"Stay with me, okay" Thor says as he tries to position me more comfortably, but it's pointless really as I started to become numb to everything... I don't have much time left and I'm started to lose all feeling from extraneous blood loss... I need to address my feelings... But how can I do that when I don't even understand them? I suppose I'll have to take a page from Thor's book and "wing it", as I heard him so often say.

"I'm sorry" I whisper, then with more conviction and much to my own discomfort; "I'm sorry, I'm sorry" looking Thor dead in the eyes; I mean it, I genuinely am sorry. I am still unsure of my feelings in all of this, but at least this would not be a lie – regardless of being sorry for any wrongs I have done, I am definitely sorry that I had let myself get killed and sorry that I had done it to save someone who never cared enough for me in childhood to even notice how I suffered... I have been so clumsy, my work is shoddy and I could have made this all work out if my judgement had not been clouded by revenge and a lust for power. Thor could have even been in my current position instead had this played out right... But is that still what I wanted? As I stare up into Thor's eyes in my dying moments I see pieces of our childhood play out before my mind's eye; how he had wrestled a young Bildschneip from me while we trained in the wilds together and I had been caught off guard by it, how I had used my cunning to steal back an item that had been stolen from him by another of the Asgardian children, how he had carried me all the way home when I fell off a small cliff and broken my leg, all of the small things I had forgotten about... Thor was so obviously undeserving of my hatred, yet I was blinded by the shadow he cast over me as we were growing up, and it festered as our father favoured him... I had tried so hard to win a place in our father's eyes, to be considered an equal – but my intellect and cunning were never valuable traits in Asgard, so I took matters into my own hands, and the rest is now history...

"It's alright" Thor nods at me, "I will tell father what you did here today". I can sense his sincerity but I don't care for it; I will die here and no amount of speaking on my behalf will clear my name so it's a pointless exercise... Besides, I do not want his approval anymore – I'm beyond that. I just want to be recognised as a citizen of Asgard, an _equal _citizen of Asgard, not as an adopted monster from the wastes of Jotunheim with little value or rights, only tolerated rather than respected...

"I didn't do it for him" Looking at Thor's face, it became a mix of emotions; so typical for him to be confused by vague answers. I no longer have time to explain, drifting out of consciousness... Why do I feel so alone...?

My eyes snap open and I feel cold, horribly cold; even my Jotun blood cannot temper this chill. A dull sky looms overhead; I had forgotten the fate that awaited me after passing... Just brilliant.


	2. Chapter 1: Penitence Denied

He just lies there, motionless... I watch as his brother walks away, oblivious to my presence, and I am torn. Freyja has given me an explicit order to have him sent to Niflheim without Odin's knowledge; she feels that he is undeserving of the privileges a warrior's death would grant him and also fears what Odin would do with his soul... But I look at the grief and anguish on his face and cannot help but feel sorry him and his entire situation. I have seen him fight in previous battles, forever watching him and hoping for the best outcome... I have been purposefully searching out his battles above all others to observe him and I have no idea why – I've become fond of him? I do not even know him yet I cannot help but seek him out, admire his cunning in battle, his swift and deadly movements with such a meagre blade, his lithe form flowing around his foes with such effortless grace, the destruction he wreaks upon the unsuspecting as he cons them into traps and lures them into a false sense of security before stripping their lives from them with precise strikes and misdirection. Sometimes I notice a hint of sadness in his eyes, a crease of anguish on his brow, as he lays into those who would do him harm... Sometimes, while Freyja is absent or busy, I even sneak away to watch him outside of combat, to try and learn more of him – but all I've ever learned is that he is mysterious and fickle in his feelings. His illusions are almost constant and I don't think I've ever seen the _real _him because of this... Why does he hide so often from those who hold him closest? He might not have ended up here if he had not forsaken those who sought to care for him, but he seems to have come to terms with what he's done... It is such a pity that he cannot be rewarded for his penitence...

With that I decide to go with Freyja's instruction rather than invoke her wrath; perhaps Hel will be kind to him and I'm sorely hoping she will... I float down from where I'm hovering to kneel next to him in the dust of Svartalfheim, which billows up around me and coats my crisp, white tunic. Finally I can see him up close and it has to be when he is entrusted to me, a venerable angel of death... He seems so at peace with himself as he lies in front of me. I reach down and gently place a glowing hand on his face; it bathes him in light, warming his features and oh how beautiful he is. I rub a thumb softly across his cheek and it feels chilled to touch, my stormy eyes falling closed as a single tear trails down my face. I catch this single tear on the edge of my finger, staring at it and wondering why I could weep for one man when I've seen millions slaughtered throughout my years...

I kiss the tear from my hand and take the lance from my back in my other hand... Before I carry his soul away I do something impulsively, not even thinking; I take the spear in my hand near the tip and use it to shear a small lock from my platinum tresses that cascade around my face and I place it inside his inner jacket pocket that he so fondly uses to conceal daggers. In turn, I carefully pick up some of his luscious, raven hair and cut off a small piece for myself before putting it inside my breastplate, near my heart... I chant "blóta minn at hirða heill" over and over again for about a minute before I feel the warmth of his hair against my chest as it glows, a dim glow visible from his inner pocket as well. All is well now and I'm ready to carry out my task, so I stand up and put my spear away. I straighten my arms out so that they're hovering over him, close my eyes in concentration and boom "sál flytja"; a wispy blue version of him comes forth from his body and hovers ever upwards before I use one hand to stop it while the other moves to grab it from underneath. With the physical contact, the soul collapses in upon itself into a single, glowing wisp that I take care to hold tightly. It feels like I'm trying to hold a slightly dense cloud that tingles with static electricity. I put it inside the special pouch upon my belt and drift away from the planes of Svartalfheim and flit across to Niflheim in no time at all.

Standing on the hard, slate ground I take a moment to catch my breath. I hate leaving him here, but it's an order... So I pull his soul out from my pouch – it's a beacon of light in the dull ambience that is Niflheim. I hold it up to my lips and blow it from my hand as you would pixie dust; wisps flow out from my hand and drift down upon the ground, materialising into his shape before solidifying into a physical body once again. I have to leave now before he awakes or he might start asking questions, so I quickly launch myself back into the cosmos and pray that he may stay safe in such a treacherous place...


	3. Chapter 2: Journey's Start

I use my hands to push myself into a sitting position and feel a harsh ground beneath me that almost slices my hands open; it's slate gray in colour and is riddled with splinters and cracks along it, as if the stone can't hold itself together. As I sit up I see the landscape; I'm sitting on a small jut of land that balances precariously in space, floating in a black expanse that seems to go on forever. There are no stars, no horizon line – just emptiness... I start to panic, feeling more alone than I've ever felt in my life; what is this place!? I quickly stand up and turn around to be greeted by an entirely different view. There in front of me is a bridge about a mile wide and a few miles in length; made entirely out of bones. A shiver runs up my spine as I can even discern the different bones used to make it; all of the posts lining the bridge are topped with a skull, the railings are spines connected all along it over intermittent femurs, and the bridge's base is a jumbled pile of everything else from the skeletons... I frown in disdain at the thing and start to walk towards the bridge. I notice that beneath it is the chasm of nothingness, and the land connected on the other side of the bridge is vast; there are rivers cascading off the edges at different intervals, all drifting away into the abyss below. I can't make out the landmass itself; it's obscured completely in mist, like a floating cloud. I can make out some exceptionally tall mountains around the borders however, and a small amount of land is visible right where the bridge would end. But how had I gotten here? The last thing I remember was... dying.

A rush of emotion floods me and I collapse onto my hands and knees again, hyperventilating as my tears stain the ground beneath me... Am I really dead? I remember; Thor was there to watch me, the only person to care and it had to be my sorry excuse for a brother... I shake my head, trying to deny my fate and wringing tears from my face but I only cry harder as the reality sets in... I must be in Niflheim then, the precursor to the realm of the dead... But I was killed in battle, not by sickness or aging, so why wasn't I carried to Odin or Freyja by one of the Valkyrie...? How perplexing; perhaps I'm not worthy of such a fate... I don't even know what to do now that I'm here or whether there is a point to anything anymore...

A low rumbling sound draws my attention and my head snaps up to view the bridge. I can't see through my blurred vision properly, but I can make out a large, white object moving towards me so I hop up onto my feet again in one swift motion and make for a dagger inside my jacket... And that's when I notice something peculiar there; it's soft and warm, humming against my skin... But I have no time to investigate; I quickly pull out a dagger with my right hand while roughly swiping away my tears with my left arm. The sight before me is more than intimidating as I feel myself shaking in fear; it's a great, white warhorse with a giantess atop, though of which origin I don't know. She's fair in skin; possibly a Vanir? I'm not too sure... But she's perfectly monstrous in size! I shuffle backwards as far as I dare on such a scant precipice as she thunders to the end of the bridge. She leaps off the horse in one bound and her landing staggers me, almost costing me my footing. She has to be at least 8 or 9 feet tall, wearing a full set of steel armaments with vibrant red hair braided to her waist. She stomps towards me and raises her broadsword to point right at my face;

"Who are you and what business have you in Niflheim!?" She roars at me, almost sending me over the edge with her furore. Quickly I gather my wits about me as I gauge her temperament and intentions; who could she be? I should have cast an illusion, but I couldn't think and it's too late now... I slowly raise my hands up in front of me in surrender, dagger palmed downwards which I then drop in front of me and it clatters on the ground. I put on my usual grin of superiority in the hopes that she may recognise me and possibly cower before me, though the chances of that happening were looking slim...

"I am Loki of Asgard, adoptive son of Odin and rightful heir of Jotunheim; and who might you be?" I try to be as imposing with my words as I can, annunciating every syllable, returning her gaze as steadily as possible whilst shaking uncontrollably.

"That is of no import Loki of Asgard; now who has brought you to this realm!" She bellows, thrusting the broadsword to sit under my chin. I tilt my head up a little to try and move it away from my vulnerable Adam's apple, but she pushes it forward another few centimetres and growls as I do so; she means business.

"Unfortunately for both of us, I don't know who has brought me to this place – if it weren't for my memory of dying I wouldn't even know where we are right now. Why is it so important for you to know who brought me here? Did I not come here like all the others who I'm sure come?" I'm eyeing the blade warily as I quickly tell her what I know, or what I don't to be more accurate.

The giantess lowers her sword slowly while eyeing me suspiciously, and then sheathes it within its scabbard on her belt.

"Come then, Loki of Asgard; your journey to Helheim begins." She turns away from me and mounts her elephant sized horse, then offers her hand down to me.

I pick up my dagger from the ground and place it carefully back inside my pocket, careful not to damage whatever the trinket inside is, and walked towards the horse. It was a massive beast with a coat as white as the driven snow. As I reached the horse I realised that I'd have to balance on my toes to reach up; I feel so helpless now, like a simpering child. I sigh in exasperation before reaching up to the hulking woman, and she flings me atop the horse with a small flick of her wrist. It's very disconcerting to sit in front of this woman; with the size difference I even look like a child in her company. I take the pommel of the saddle in my hands to steady myself before we leave to go... Well, wherever this woman is taking me. Normally I'd be more careful with strangers like this, but I have no idea where I'm going or what I should be doing – I'm just glad I'm not alone in this place...

"My name is Mordgud, Loki of Asgard. Hold on tight; Grani is powerful and swift, and you seem frail." The giantess huffs over my head as she grabs the reins and readies the horse.

Great; even she thinks me helpless... This can't get much worse; can it...?


	4. Chapter 3: The Tower

Grani's hooves thunder across the bridge, every rattle of bone sending shivers through me as I feel the overbearing presence of Mordgud at my back. Her strength seems to be seeping into me, giving me the resolve not to breakdown completely in such an uncertain time. I hold tighter to the pommel of the saddle as I near the end of the bridge and see a horrendous construct before me; it is a tower, blacker still than the ground it rises from. The tower looks to have actually sprouted from the rock, the walls sloping down into the cracked rock that surrounds it. The cracks that permeate the ground climb up throughout the walls, sometimes splitting wide enough to create windows. The top of the tower tapers into a jagged point. At the base is a large opening that leads inside, roughly hewn from the stone; only blackness lies within. I can't see anything beyond the tower at all; the mist is too thick. Mordgud pulls her steed to a stop a few meters from the front entrance to the tower and dismounts swiftly. She offers her hand up to me as I look around in confusion; this can't be the entirety of Niflheim, can it? That fog seems almost magical in nature; I can sense it somehow... It's as if my skin is about to catch fire but is chilled to the bone at the same time.

As I'm lost in thought she pulls me from the horse roughly, holding me under my arms as you would a child. She's bores holes in my head with the stare she gives me, as if she's trying to place every crease of my face, find every facet of myself and recognise it for what it is... It's not entirely comfortable and I pull on a sneer of defiance after spending mere moments feeling vulnerable... Can she see inside my head? Feel what I'm feeling now? I surely hope not; nobody is supposed to know how I feel, I've always kept it that way and it shall remain that way for as long as I can help it.

After another few moments her brow furrows in apparent uncertainty and she puts me down gently; good thing too, I didn't want to have to make her put me down... It might not have ended well for either of us. With my feet on solid ground again I feel a little safer than on the bridge, but not too much; this piece of land is still hovering within a black plane of space... Like when I let go for the first time...

As I absent-mindedly look out into space, staring past the brute that is Mordgud, I become pained when I realise that this is technically not even the first time I've died, or at least presumably died... But I never came here the first time - I can't even remember how, but I awoke in Thanos' presence after what felt like an eternal sleep, and my mind was crashing in on itself with all of what had happened... It was so easy for him to mould me into what he wanted, I was so impressionable... Now I realise, after truly dying, that everything I've done was not truly what I had wanted; only my meagre attempts to feel alive and important again in a world where I'm always second best, my endeavours ignored and my feelings disregarded or not even recognised... I was so confused and enraged at being cast out so easily when I was already the "barbarian" in their midst, I didn't know what to do or even who to be anymore... I distanced everyone from me to appear stronger; but solitude is weakness, I went unsupported and fell yet again because of my own fragility...

I hadn't noticed but I'm now standing closer to the edge than before, having shuffled over in my haze... I wonder what would happen if I just, fell off...? Best not to dwell on such thoughts; she brandished a sword at me so pain must be real here too. I turn about, casually saunter over to Grani with a genuine smile on my face and reach my hand out to pat her neck in gratitude; she is a fine horse indeed, perhaps I'll be lucky to have one of her children someday as my own steed. She shakes her head and whinnies in approval before I turn to Mordgud and find her at the entrance to the tower. At the entrance she takes out her seemingly plain broadsword again and raises it high above her head before cleaving it down through the entrance of the door; the darkness splits open like fabric and dissipates into nothing moments later. Before I can glimpse the inside of the tower Mordgud turns to me and gestures her hand for me to come forward. Hesitantly, I comply go forward on guard for whatever might be inside...

As Mordgud moves aside and motions for me to go in I'm awestruck at the place; my mouth actually falls open. Inside could be likened to the Baroque architecture and artistry of Midgard, with gold and ivory columns, glass and crystal ornaments and statues depicting great people from all the realms. I can recognise Odin as one of them, and Freya of Vanaheim as another with her brother, Freyr, next to her. There is no statue of Thor or myself; perhaps we've done nothing worthy to be placed among them. As I set foot into the tower in my entranced state I look down in shock at the perfectly cut white marble floor; all one piece.

"What is this place Mordgud; such a decadent place doesn't seem like it would be to your taste", I sneer at her; she's a woman of "simple" tastes obviously, almost akin to brutish.

"This is only one room Loki of Asgard; this place is a mirror of space and time, lending from all corners and eras of the universe. The rooms change every time you look away, but certain things remain the same; such as the statues, window openings and doors." She says this while pointing at them and making me notice a door I'd never seen before; it's the same black as the tower and nearly 20 feet high – it looks so out of place in a room like this!

"Is that where we're going? Through that towering door? And why must I journey to Helheim; am I not supposed to be there already?" I almost spit at her - I'm losing my patience with this already; it seems like some epic quest that Thor would jump at, but I'm too clever for that. Why do all that travelling and work when you can get someone else to do it for you?

"Be at ease, Loki of Asgard – all will be explained in due time. First I will give you a night's rest in one of my chambers and explain all to you come morning." With this she heads up a staircase to the left of the main entrance that I hadn't noticed as my back was to it. I follow her up the stairs, unsure of what to expect; it spirals up around the round room to a medieval mahogany door positioned directly above the blackened door I'd noticed moments before. She slips a ring of keys from her pocket and unlocks the door with the biggest and oldest looking one on the bunch, leading me into a narrow corridor that is dimly lit by algae glowing on the dark, stone walls. The corridor only goes on for about 10 or 15 feet, but there are 5 doors of all shapes and designs on each side of me, and another at the end. Mordgud takes me to the third door on the left; it is made of a lustrous metal, possibly chrome? And is made of riveted panels. But it still has an old, rusty lock where a handle would be, which Mordgud fills with the right key from her bunch and slides it open even though there is physically nowhere in the wall for the door to go... She enters the room herself and I follow her in;

"I apologise for the room; this is always the bedroom, but it's not always of a comfortable era in time or space. I hope that this will suffice for one night." With that she leaves the room and closes the door behind her.

The room is sparsely fitted and everything is chrome; even the bed. There is a mattress alright, with comfortable bedding, but no window either – just metal walls... There is an overhead light and lights at either side of the bed built into the wall. I look for a way to turn the lights off and quickly find a toggle on the wall next to the door that does the trick; but I'm not left in complete darkness...

My inside pocket emits a dull glow, and I remember the warmth from earlier on; what could it be? I quickly turn the light back on and slip my hand inside my pocket only to pull out a lock of hair the colour of spun gold. My brow furrows as I try to think why this would be here or who would put it here... And an urge I can't resist fills me; I slowly bring it up to my face, close my eyes gently and smell it. It smells of warmth if that's at all possible; not like the smell of a fire, but a smell that something warm would give off, the smell of heat emanating from... Freshly warmed linen, hot water in a bath, bodies huddling together for heat... It's a smell I cannot place, but I know it somehow. It's seems sweeter than before... I inhale again, deeper this time, just for the pleasure of smelling it, and I feel it against my lips; it's so soft... I bring it softly across my cheek and revel in it... I slowly open my eyes again and bring it up to look at it; whoever left this with me will be mine. I will find out who they are and I will make them mine somehow – I need to have this! This elation, this intense euphoria – it makes the dullness go away, the pain is forgotten and it's all that I can sense... In an intoxicated stupor I toggle the switch off again and traipse over in the general direction of the bed, still feeling enchanted by the sweet smelling locks. I collapse onto the bed in one motion and just lay there, one leg dangling haphazardly off the bed with the small gift in my hand still, and I drift off to sleep... And I dream...


	5. Chapter 4: Dreaming

I'm standing in the training hall of Asgard where Thor and his friends would spar often; what am I doing here? I never enjoyed combat training so why would I dream of it? I look around and see Thor there, swinging his fists at a training mannequin. But he is much younger now; only a teenager still, not even an adult – possibly 15 or 16? He is still muscular, but not even half the size he would be now. And not a screed of facial hair either; he kept himself well shaven up until he turned 22 or 23 perhaps, where he decided he'd stylise himself after father... Wait – I remember this! This exact moment; I was here too! But that means...

I erupt into laughter as I watch the mannequin come to life and start pounding my brother back; I have to hold my sides I'm laughing so much! Thor's face is completely shocked at what's happened and falls backwards from the onslaught of the doll, losing his nerve and unsure of what's happening. The mannequin then stops and my teenage self comes out from behind a rack of armaments, the same mirth running through him as through me a few moments ago; I was so happy and fun loving back then. Thor stands up and laughs his usual, bellowing laugh, clapping my younger self on the shoulder;

"Loki, always the trickster – such tricks may prove useful in combat someday! Perhaps you will not be a great warrior like me, but you will definitely be able to defend yourself – I am proud brother." With a big grin on his face, Thor then leaves the training room and I'm there by myself with... Myself? This is a memory though; I don't think he can see me... And I remember this all so well, how petty I was as a child, how little I valued the praise I was given. My younger self has that look on his face I've used on others so many times but never managed to glimpse myself and it is truly disconcerting; those menacing eyes and maniacal grin that send shivers down the spines of all my enemies... It is truly terrifying, even more now because I know the malice, the intent, behind it... I remember this day so well, how I'd taken such a compliment as insult; Thor had inadvertently made me feel like his shadow again, comparing his success and my failure at something so important to father – that we be fit warriors.

"Of course Thor, my brother! How could I possibly compare to your battle prowess when I can do THIS!" I watch on in horror as I see myself magically ripping each of the mannequin's limbs off like a puppeteer, pulling my arms up and dragging them all off simultaneously – the look of sheer hatred and anger on my face brings a tear to my eye as I pale at the sight of it. The limbs are then hurled across the room at the racks of armaments, most of which fall over and weapons clatter on the ground everywhere. The weapons on the floor start flying, one by one, towards the torso left on the stand, impaling themselves in it or smashing chunks out of it, and soon it's like a rain of blades until the stand falls over under the weight with a loud crash... And there I stand, arms limp, hunched over, sweat dripping from me, panting heavily at the loss of energy it cost me to do it... And still, I watch as I scream out, stretching my arms out and knocking everything around flying, embedding multiple weapons and pieces of armour in the walls, before I see myself collapse to the floor and start to weep softly... How childish and pathetic I was back then.

The room then shimmers and changes into Odin's throne room and my younger self is kneeling at his feet, head bowed, as Odin stands over me, berating my outburst in the training room and of all the damages caused. Not once am I praised for my exemplary power or skill as a magician; just vilified for my recklessness and disregard for property. After the scolding is done with I'm sent away, and I can see my eyes watering as I walk past myself - but I walk straight and steady, belying my actual feelings. I've left the room now, but I'm still here... This can't be a memory if I'm seeing it; I never saw this.

Then the doors open again and two women enter just as Odin sits himself down, holding his head in one hand in obvious exhaustion.

"Approach, Shield Maidens; why do you seek audience with your king?" Odin proclaims across the expanse of the room. The two maidens kneel at the steps to his throne before the older one, with grey streaks in her auburn hair, proclaims;

"We are here to request your blessing for another to join our ranks; she is of age, virginal and has a way with the ancient magics we have not seen since Freya herself – she learns the words and uses them as if they were her first language. We have brought her here to show you if you'll see her."

Odin makes a gesture with his hand for the guards to let her in, so they open the doors and young girl of about 14 walks in. She's short and a little dainty, probably just coming into womanhood as her chest is still relatively flat and she hasn't the womanly figure to fill out the simple white dress she wears – but she's pretty, with large grey eyes full of curiosity and curling fair hair the colour of sunlight. She looks a little nervous and is fidgeting with her hands in front of her, rubbing them together and pulling at her fingers. Her eyes dart towards each of the maidens before she approaches the throne and kneels down, bowing her head and not even looking up at the king;

"I am Sigyn, Allfather – daughter of no-one yet master of the ancient language and I humbly request your blessing as a shield maiden." With this she seems to shake a little, looks up at Odin and hesitantly stands up to face him – the maidens to either side of her flinch and I can see a fleeting panic skim across the one whose face I can see. Even I, a son of Odin, would not boldly stand as such in his presence without permission. "Odin Borson, I mean no disrespect to you or my elders, but I owe my life to the Shield Maiden's of Valhalla; I was abandoned on their doorstep as a baby and they have raised me as their own since. It would dishonour them if I were to do anything else but use their teachings and become a Valkyrie." Sigyn is clasping her hands together in front of her heart as she speaks, almost praying that he hears her plea.

Odin stands from his throne with staff in hand and walks down the few steps towards the girl, stopping only inches from her face. She awkwardly looks at his chest, panting heavily and afraid to meet his gaze.

"Leave us at once, all of you - I need to speak with Sigyn, daughter of none, for a moment in private..." And with that everyone but myself leaves the room; and Odin speaks again; "Heimdall, I require your presence here."

I stand there watching as Odin circles the young girl, taking in every detail of her as he looks her over – what is he looking for exactly? Or is he just looking; she's quite pretty now that I look closer myself. I'm even so bold as to take a few steps towards the 2 of them from the corner of the room I'm standing in, just to see her up close. Her eyes are like quicksilver, sparkling and melting into different shades of grey, a metallic whirlpool. They also appear older than she is; her eyes speak volumes, like she's seen more than any child should have to... They keep flitting about her as Odin walks around; she's trying to keep him in her sights - probably part of her training, though she's failing miserably. I can see her slight frame shivering under her dress, her arms are visibly shaking and she starts biting the corner of her lip. Just as I think she's about to melt into a puddle of nerves, Heimdall enters the room, walks straight up to Odin and drops to one knee before Odin speaks;

"Heimdall, you can see everything – both in space and time. Can you tell me this child's origins? She cannot remember herself but you can see into her past for her." Heimdall gives Odin a perplexed look before standing again and approaching the girl.

She seems more nervous than before, her hands splay out in front of her and I can hear the hesitancy in her voice; "Why is this necessary? Is my birthright so important? I will make a fine shield maiden, with or without parents..." Her voice is quivering, her eyes grow wide in panic; she doesn't know what's happening. Heimdall slowly brings a hand up to rest on her shoulder and smiles softly at her;

"All will be well, little one – this will not harm you. It will only play out the memories in your mind once again, including those you yourself have forgotten" Sigyn seems to calm a little and rests her arms by her sides. She gives a slight nod and smiles meekly at him, to which he grabs her other should and stares deep into her eyes. The molten metal seems to still, becoming like granite and she gasps lightly as Heimdall looks through her past until he finds what he needs to. After another moment or two, he lets go and smiles at the young girl before turning to Odin;

"Allfather, I could not find her father within her memories and I would need to look across all of time itself to find him – but I know who her mother is, _personally_. So do you; it is Freya, my king. Freya abandoned this poor child upon the steps of the Valhalla in the hopes the maidens would take her and raise her as their own, which they have done."

"Just as I'd thought – thank you Heimdall, you can return to the Bifrost." With that Heimdall bows deeply to Odin and nods to Sigyn before leaving. But Sigyn looks worse for wear and collapses, Odin catching her quickly as she passes out.

Just then the edges of the dream start to shimmer, but it's different this time... Sigyn and Odin remain in front of me but they're motionless, as if frozen in time. There is a rippling effect across all of my vision, as if the fabric of existence were liquid... And a person steps right through it to me before the rippling disappears and the events play on behind them. It's a woman, about 5'4", mercurial eyes and platinum tresses reaching down her back, wearing a silver breastplate over a short, white tunic and golden sandals. It is Sigyn_._


End file.
